


πυρετός

by askboo



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Kings Rising, Sick Fic, mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askboo/pseuds/askboo
Summary: Laurent wakes up one morning with a fever.





	πυρετός

Laurent wakes up one morning with a fever.

He opens his eyes at the feel of Damen’s broad, calloused palm against his forehead. The sheets and blankets have been peeled back from his body. It feels so cold. Laurent has no time to ask Damen what on earth is going on before Damen is rising from the bed and opening the door to their chambers, asking the servant stationed outside to call for a physician. 

Laurent lays back against his pillows and blinks up at the ceiling. Already, he feels himself falling back into sleep, though distantly he is aware that he ought to be concerned. He wakes once more when Maynard the physician peels open his eyelids, but manages not much more than a few hoarse complaints as he is poked and prodded at before Damen tells him to hush. He is standing all the way over by the fireplace, watching, the nail of his thumb held tight between his teeth.

“I believe it will pass, Exalted,” Maynard says to Damen, wiping his hands with a cloth. “He will need to be kept hydrated and warm. I will send for--”

“No,” says Damen, straightening from the wall. “I will tend to him myself.”

“But, Exalted -- it could be catching.”

Laurent wants to say something about the idiocy of the concern - if Damen were to catch it, he most certainly had already done so. They had made love the night before. But what Damen says strips the mockery from the tip of Laurent’s tongue. “Then let it take me,” he says, clasping Maynard on the arm and guiding him towards the door. “Send for some broth. Otherwise, we are not to be disturbed.”

Laurent closes his eyes, and swallows around a tight throat that has nothing to do with his illness. It is the same feeling, tight in his chest, as when Damen had put himself at the mercy of the council, and asked to die along with Laurent if he was found guilty. The threat now is not so grave, but the intention behind Damen’s words are the same. Damen will not live without him. 

Last time Laurent had been this ill, he had been alone. Eighteen years old, he had weathered the illness in his rooms in Arles - he had not called for a physician, or a servant. He had not called for anyone. To make Laurent’s death look like the result of illness at that point would have been all too easy for his Uncle. If Laurent were to die, he’d thought, let it be to die naturally, on his own terms.

This time he was not alone. Laurent has already fallen back into sleep by the time the broth arrives, but he is awakened by a firm grip on the back of his neck, lifting his head as the warm broth is brought to his lips. Spoonful by spoonful, Damen feeds him the broth. It’s a nuisance - Laurent wants nothing more than to let his head fall back into the pillow, for the sweet warmth of sleep to take him over. But Laurent keeps eating - for Damen. A brief glimpse of his expression -the furrowed brow, the worrying of his lip - tells Laurent that Damen is having painful memories of caring for his father. Laurent isn’t interested in causing him any more grief by being difficult. Not today, at least.

Finally, Laurent is allowed to lower his head on to the pillow. He drifts to the sound of water dripping into a bowl, and then he feels a cool cloth pressed to his forehead. Damen dabs the sweat from his brow, then trails the cloth over his temples, down his cheek. It feels unspeakably good. He can’t remember the last time someone had cooled his forehead. He opens his eyes, gazing up at Damen. The whole room has a hazy, unreal quality to it - but he can see clearly Damen’s golden brown eyes, his sharp cheekbones, the few rogue curls that sweep his brow. Laurent’s chest burns suddenly with this feeling, of how much he--

“What?” Damen says warmly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and for some reason this makes Damen laugh.

“You are,” Lauren says crossly, frowning. It wasn’t meant to be funny--

Damen leans down and kisses his forehead, then each of his eyelids, once. “So you’ve mentioned,” he whispers. He lays the cloth across Laurent’s forehead and then stands. He unpins his chilton and then crawls in on the other side of the vast bed. Laurent only gives him time to settle before he rolls into Damen’s arms, soaking in his body heat, and using his broad chest as a pillow. Damen holds him tight in one arm. Laurent knows he has a thousand things to attend to. But every time Laurent wakes, the sun is lower in the sky, and Damen is still there, holding him in his arms. 

 

Δδδδδ

Laurent’s fever takes several days to break. The demands of their country and its complicated operations pushes at the walls of their chambers, but Damen never leaves him once. Laurent wakes that morning with a clear mind but soaked in sweat, his muscles aching terribly, as if he’d been on the field of battle with a sword too big for him. He rolls over to hide his face into Damen’s neck, making a plaintive noise.

Damen laughs, rubbing his back. “My nursemaid used to say that if you were well enough to complain, the worst was over.”

“I feel worse,” Laurent whines. “ _Damen_.”

“Alright,” Damen says, and Laurent can hear that he is still smiling. Damen sits up and retrieves a glass of water from the bedside table. He coaxes Laurent to sit up and then makes him drink it. When it is empty, he takes the glass from Laurent’s fingers and fills it again. Laurent is halfway through this second drink when he feels Damen shift down, his chest resting on Laurent’s legs. 

Laurent peers down at him. “What on earth are you doing?”

Damen keeps his eyes on Laurent, all teasing light, as he takes Laurent’s cock in his hand, and then presses a kiss to the tip. “Giving you medicine,” he says. “Keep drinking.”

Laurent forces the water down his throat as Damen takes him into the heat of his mouth. It always feels so incredible, but this is different. His skin feels twice as sensitive as normal. Laurent shudders, letting the cup fall to the mattress as he sinks back into the pillows. Damen is letting himself be sloppy, getting Laurent wet and then rubbing his cock against his cheek. Laurent is hard in seconds, and by the time Damen reaches between his legs, he is nearly finished. Damen doesn’t even push inside him, just rubs his fingers against his entrance. Laurent’s whole back bows when he comes, shooting into Damen’s mouth. 

Damen can always bring him off with relative ease, but this would be embarrassing - if Laurent had anything to prove.

He shivers against the pillows. His entire body, which had been tense with pain mere moments ago, was loose and relieved. Laurent falls back into sleep, only becoming aware when servants enter the room, carrying buckets full of heated water. They fill the tub, and Damen pulls him out of bed, coaxes him into the water.

They discovered after several failed experiments that there was no real way to fit them both comfortably in the tub. Damen kneels at its side instead, and reaches for the vile that holds the lavender oil. He pours a few drops into the water, and the floral scent rises with the steam. Laurent can feel his muscles unwinding further, tingling, almost singing. Damen lets him doze in the water for a short while, stroking a hand through his hair. Then, it’s time to wash. Damen soaks another cloth and then glides it over Laurent’s skin, over his face, his collar, underneath his arms. Laurent leans his head back as Damen shields his eyes with one hand, the other tipping a cup of warm water over Laurent’s hair. They use the same soap for their hair, that smells of mint. Damen scrubs his nails gently into Laurent’s scalp as he washes his hair. 

Laurent feels moisture pooling behind his eyes. Damen rinses his hair, then leans in to kiss the corner of Laurent’s eyes, as if he knows what Laurent is feeling. When the water is cooling, he pulls Laurent out and dries him with soft towels. Damen nearly has to carry him to the bed.

“Better?” Damen murmurs, laying Laurent down in the sheets, now fresh and clean. He leans over Laurent, his forearms on either side of Laurent’s head.

Laurent gazes up at him. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, and then: “I love you.”

Damen smiles, and says: “I love _you_.”

They kiss. Then, Damen is up, and goes to his dresser, pulling out a clean chilton. “I’ll go see how our country has fared without us,” he says, as he wraps himself in it. “I’d have you rest awhile longer.”

“Ah,” Laurent says, his eyes already closed. “This morning has been but a devious scheme, designed to keep me abed forever so you may rule this country alone.”

Damen comes back for one last kiss before he leaves. “Keeping you in bed forever is a concept that appeals to me,” he says. “But you know very well that I could not rule this country alone.”

“Then you will have to assemble the court in our bedroom,” Laurent mumbles sleepily. “We can remove your desk to make space.”

“I’ll bring it up with the council,” Damen murmurs, placatingly, his lips against Laurent’s forehead.

Laurent thinks it is some time before Damen actually leaves the room.


End file.
